A/N: Another week, another chapter. I hope you will all enjoy this one. Song is Gravity by Sara Bareilles. I truly love all her music, but this one is right up at the top, and I think it fits this chapter well.

Chapter 10: Gravity

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.

Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

You loved me 'cause I'm fragile.
When I thought that I was strong.
But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

May 29th, 2018

When Brennan awoke in the morning, she was confused for a long moment. She blinked her eyes to clear them of the early-morning fog, and found her back to be stiff and uncomfortable. The room was dark, but it wasn't her office as she had initially concluded. Light streamed through the curtains of her living room, faint but definite. It was early morning; what time, though, she had no clue. So accustomed to finding her alarm clock directly beside her, it took a few seconds for her to remember where the clocks were in this room.

Seven o'clock. Her stomach dropped in that instant moment of alarm, but then the day before rushed back and she dropped back down onto the cushions, letting her arms fall on top of the blanket. Angela was sleeping in the reclining chair not five feet away, her breathing soft and even. A bowl with popcorn remnants sat on the coffee table, the light shining through the plastic and outlining the kernels piled in the bottom.

Her eyes slid shut again, her heart still pounding in her chest despite knowing that she wasn't late for work. In fact, she wasn't even planning on going to work today, and as far as she knew... neither was Angela.

James would be in lock-up right now, and she couldn't make herself feel even the slightest bit pitying of his situation. She was a woman of justice, mostly, and she knew from the evidence and what Booth would call her gut that he most likely was not guilty of this murder... and yet, she still liked the idea of him spending a night locked up. Away from her.

Right now, she wasn't even sure how she was ever going to look at his face again without wanting to break his nose. She knew about ten different, very efficient, ways that she could carry it out. And she also knew how to make it look like a complete accident. She could probably actually get away with killing him, to be honest. But that wasn't going to solve anything, no matter how much it seemed like it would make her feel better right now.

She sighed and slowly rubbed her hands up over her face, rolling them over her eyelids. What she wouldn't give to turn back the clock. To find a way to prevent all of this before it happened. Maybe to avoid meeting James at all.

But that would leave her without Nick.

No, she would turn it back just far enough to keep him from starting the affair. Or she would hire a private detective after he had already started, and get the divorce in the works. It would be so much better than realizing that she had been so clueless, so stupid, that she had not known for all of this time.

...She was considering impossible scenarios with time machines that didn't exist.

A low moan slipped between her lips, and she moved her hands to massage her temples. She needed to get out of here, and forget about all of it.

In her head, she ran through a list of places that she could go. All of the old ones, like Guatemala and Maluku, were crossed off. She couldn't escape with Nick that way, and she wasn't leaving him with his father. Over her dead body.

Paris would be nice this time of year. Or London. She liked the sound of that. He wouldn't be likely to remember much of the trip when he grew up, but perhaps she'd stay there longer than just for a vacation. Maybe she could spend a couple of months lecturing there. It would be an excuse to avoid everyone, and to figure out where to go from here.

Staying with James was not something she could see herself doing. If they weren't married, she'd have already packed his things, changed the locks, and sent him a text telling him he was never seeing their son again. But as it was, they were married. And these sorts of things involved courts, and lawyers, and custody hearings. Right now, she had to admit that she wasn't prepared to go through that ordeal. But at the same time, she couldn't live under the same roof as him.

Booth would call her when James was released, she was sure of that. And once he did, she would call her husband and tell him that he could come by and gather his belongings. She'd help him find an apartment if necessary, but he wouldn't be living with her and Nick. He just... wouldn't. It was out of the question.

"I used to love you," his words echoed through her head, and she blinked furiously, staring at the ceiling and trying to clamp down on her emotions. All these years, letting herself see things that she had always refused to in the past, letting herself feel things that she hadn't let in ever before... and this, this was her reward. All the pain that she had been afraid of, all the pain she had been expecting but had forgotten about as the years fell away... had arrived now, unexpected and violent. And she was locked up now in its caged embrace, trapped and helpless.

More than anything, she hated that she had ever believed in love.

It was all Booth's fault, really. For years, he had taught her to open her heart. He had made promises and built a bond of trust between them. He had shown her that not everyone leaves, that some people just keep coming back. Some people didn't want to betray her; would do anything to be there for her. And then, when she had been just barely beginning to explore whether or not she actually and truly had feelings for him that went beyond their partnership, beyond their friendship, he had offered her something so amazing, so strong, that everything within her had shattered.

All that time trying to figure out how she felt, and suddenly she had only seconds to make up her mind. She had never been so lost in her life. And looking in his eyes, watching the way he was waiting for a response, she had said the only thing she could. The first rational thought that had come to her mind, to try and stall him, to give herself time. Just a little more time.

His lips on hers had been a wake-up call. A warm, powerful wake-up call. She hadn't wanted him to stop, had wanted to surrender into the moment and let him carry her through whatever came next. He was the gambler. She could let him be her guide.

"Emotionally distant and cold..."

"We just aren't right for each other..."

"It's not you, it's me..."

"Maybe if you weren't so busy all the time..."

Only, she couldn't. She couldn't do that to him, couldn't let him think that she could be enough for him, when in the end, she would never give him all that he wanted. And selfishly, she couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes on the day that he figured it out. Figured out just how broken she really was, figured out just what she had hidden in her past... and understood that it would never work out. She didn't want to see that, didn't want to feel that pain. Didn't want to make him feel it with her. She didn't want to destroy the bond that they had forged all these years. He was her best friend. He was the one she could tell anything to, the one she could trust, the one who had her back in any situation. He was the only one that made her feel this way. The only one who ever had. And if it would save him, she would break his heart now, rather than later.

"I gotta move on. You know, I gotta... find someone who's... who's gonna love me in... thirty years, or forty, or fifty..."

She should have been happy when his words came true. After all, wasn't that what she had intended? Hadn't she wanted him to move on without her? Hadn't she wanted him to find someone else who could give him everything he wanted when she could not? She loved him; it only made sense that his happiness came above her own. It was the only reason she had clamped down and held herself together when he had essentially told her he didn't believe she could love him. She had wanted to correct him, more than anything. But she hadn't, because it was for the best that he think that. Anything else... anything else was too complicated.

And yet, seeing him with Hannah had been the most painful thing she could have imagined. It was one thing for someone to tell you they were moving on from you. It was another entirely for them to actually do it. Especially when they did it so quickly. When they didn't even try to find another way.

Even after she had found James and discovered that it was possible to love more than one person in a lifetime, she had wondered about the roads that she and Booth had left unexplored.

What if she had said yes that night? What if he had said yes in that car ride through the rain? What if he hadn't gone to Afghanistan and she hadn't gone to Maluku? What if he had kept trying, rather than taking her answer for what it was and believing that it was how she really felt; believing that she didn't want anything with him when it was all she had ever wanted, all that she knew she couldn't have?

They would never know, now. And this... this was one more heartache added to the list.

There was one thing, though, that she was very certain of. If she had gotten another chance with Booth, if they had become something more... he would never have done this to her. He would never have done what James had.

Angela stirred in the chair, mumbling something unintelligible.

Slowly, Brennan shifted her focus back to the present.

"Good morning," Angela said through a yawn, stretching her arms up above her head and grumbling a few other indistinguishable things. She pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking towards her friend.

"Good morning," Brennan echoed, her voice thick. She cleared her throat. Coffee sounded like an excellent idea.

Angela took a moment to untangle herself from the blankets, but clearly the same thought was on her mind, because she made her way to the kitchen once she was free. Tossing her own blanket aside, Brennan followed, smiling softly to herself. One thing she had always liked about the artist was that she wasn't shy about anything. Be it emotions, sex, or simple courtesy, all the normal social conventions were tossed aside. This meant that Angela treated Brennan's house like it was her own, helping herself to things in the fridge, and, in this case, roaming around in her pajamas.

It was nice; sort of the way Brennan had always imagined it would have been, had she possessed any best friends back in school... and had she been brave enough to invite them to come over. Which would have been very unlikely in any time past the disappearance of her parents.

"Are you... going to the lab today?" she questioned, leaning in the doorway and watching as her friend turned on the coffee pot and got it started, pulling out two cups without even asking if Brennan wanted one or not. It was assumed.

"Probably later," the artist said, her focus on the task. It didn't look like she wanted to meet Brennan's eyes, and she swallowed.

"They all know by now," Brennan stated. It wasn't a question.

"If not now... then shortly, yes," Angela said softly. She tilted her head and met her eyes uncertainly. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I wish it wasn't like this... but with the case... they can't be kept out of it."

She just nodded, not trusting her voice.

She'd been working with her team for well over a decade now. They were as much her family as anyone actually blood-related to her. And she had to admit, she probably trusted them more than she trusted her father and brother. With some things, at least. That being as it was... it hurt, a lot, to think that they would be in the thick of this. That they would know every detail.

Her personal life was meshed with her work, true. On some level, especially with Angela there, it always had been. There were boundaries, though. Things she didn't want them to know, things she wanted to keep to herself. To know that all of them, her closest friends, were privy to what was going on... she couldn't face them.

When she had called Cam to let her know that she wouldn't be in the following day, she had been able to tell that the pathologist already knew why. Booth had probably given her a heads-up. She tried not to let that bother her, because it made perfect rational sense for him to do so, but it still made her chest constrict.

She never wanted pity. And she didn't want to be looked at as some sort of victim. But if she went into work today... that was exactly what she was going to get from a group of people she cared for and deeply respected.

No, she was staying home today.

"It's going to be okay," Angela tried. She didn't sound like she was sure if she believed it, though, and Brennan was almost glad. She hated the faux-reassuring way that people got when bad things happened. Angela couldn't help but still be honest, even if it was only in the tone of her voice. "The team... you know that they're going to be there for you. We always will be. If necessary," she added, a wry smile twisting up the corner of her lips, "We'll help you hide the body."

Brennan couldn't help the short laugh that escaped. "That... won't be necessary."

"You hope," Angela commented with a raised eyebrow. "Don't rule anything out. And if you need any help with anything else, you know I'll be there. I do own a gun now, you know."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Why Hodgins trusts you with it, I honestly don't know."

"Hey, I took lessons with you that summer, remember? I was actually really good."

"Yes. It was almost scary. But really, Ange, I just... want this to all be over. And a murder would not make my problems go away."

"Unfortunately," Angela muttered, turning back to the counter as she poured them both their coffees. She handed Brennan's over silently, and she took a slow sip from it, letting the warmth linger on her tongue and down her throat. It woke her up, even as the soothing scent calmed her senses.

They were quiet for a long time, standing in her kitchen in their pajamas. She had no idea when Nick was going to be up, and she certainly had no clue what she would say if he came down the stairs right then.

When nothing broke the silence but the soft hum of the clock on the wall announcing that it was quarter after, she spoke.

"He called me Bones yesterday." The words were soft, and she stared into the depths of her coffee as she said it, watching the swirls form on the steaming surface as her breath skimmed across it. The dark depths were the color of his eyes on certain days, or when he was thinking really hard about something.

Angela was staring at her, eyes wide. She could feel it; didn't need to look up to know the exact expression on her friend's face.

"...What do you think that..?"

"I don't know," she said, cutting off the question before it could be finished.

She shook her head into the silence, staring out the nearest window, the one on the back door. The yard was dark, the faint sunlight just barely glinting off the leaves on one of the oak trees. It would have been beautiful if she didn't feel so terrible this morning. It was like she'd been run over by a truck last night, and sleeping on the couch certainly hadn't helped matters.

She took another long sip from the coffee mug.

"I don't want things to change," she whispered at last, eyes darting up hesitantly to read Angela's expression. The artist's dark eyes were soft with sympathy.

"I know, Bren," she murmured. "I know. And... this isn't your fault."

She sighed, wishing she could agree.

"You should probably get going. Hodgins will want you home... and doesn't Garrett have to leave for school soon?"

"Yeah," she said. She didn't move.

"Ange, you don't have to stay here for me. I'm perfectly fine on my own. Besides, Nick will be getting up soon. I need to get him ready to go."

Angela's eyebrow shot up and she rested a hand on her hip. Too late, Brennan realized that Angela was unaware of her plans for the day. "And where exactly are you going?"

"I'm not fleeing the country," she said tiredly, knowing exactly why her friend would suspect such a thing. After all, she had been considering it. "I'm just dropping him off with Daisy for the morning and afternoon. Booth... needs to question me. For the record, since I am technically a possible suspect."

Angela didn't look at all pleased with that idea, but she nodded anyways, eyes flicking towards the hallway and then back to her friend's face. She stepped forward, leaving her empty mug on the counter. She had finished her coffee much quicker than Brennan was ever capable of doing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked seriously, searching her eyes and placing a hand tentatively on her shoulder.

"Of course," Brennan replied, shrugging off the question. "If I need anything... I promise to call you."

"Alright," Angela said slowly. "Just... are you sure you don't want me to take Nick? Kate has dance today, and he gets along great with Trace..."

"Daisy already volunteered, and she's right down the street. Besides, you're busy enough as it is. Just... go. Please."

Angela twisted her mouth to the side, looking like she wanted to find another reason to protest, but eventually she just nodded and pulled her into a hug that lasted a little longer than their usual farewells.

"I'll see you soon, right?"

"Of course. I... hope to be back in work by tomorrow."

Another protest formed on the artist's face, but died on her lips. She gave another quick nod, squeezing Brennan's shoulder briefly, and then took her leave.

In the silence that followed, Brennan wasn't sure what to do with herself.

She drifted almost ghost-like back towards the living room, surveying the cleanup that would be necessary. If Angela had remembered, she would have no doubt insisted on helping, but for once, Brennan was glad to be left alone with the mess.

It would give her something to do.

She cleaned up the dishes, pouring soap into the dishwasher and starting that running while she was at it. Her eyes strayed to the clock again as she began to fold up the blankets, straightening the couch cushions and putting the chair back in it's proper position. It was past seven-thirty now, and Nick was sure to wake up any time now. He wasn't a late sleeper; most mornings he'd have been up sooner than this. She wondered if she should go up to check on him, but then decided that that was more likely to wake him up than anything, and turned her attention back to the task at hand.

She was going to have to explain James' absence, without a doubt, but she didn't want to have to explain Angela's visit as well. There was already too much that she needed to figure out how to translate into four-year-old speak. 'Girl time' was a concept she didn't think he'd quite grasp.

She was just shutting the hall closet door when she heard the telltale footsteps overhead. Smiling softly to herself and trying to brush off any traces of her anxiety, she moved back into the kitchen and waited for him.

The television turned on in the living room, and she listened as the station flipped to the usual morning cartoons. Then the footsteps moved into the kitchen.

"Good morning," she greeted him, sipping her coffee and smiling.

"'Morning," he said sleepily, pulling out one of the bar stools and climbing up onto it. His pajamas had space ships on them, and she couldn't help but smile at the sheer simplicity of it. She reminded herself that they probably needed to be washed, though. "Can I have pop tarts?"

"We don't buy those anymore, Nicky," she reminded cautiously. It was a bad idea to feed four year olds sugar packed breakfast food that contained as many unhealthy calories as a double cheeseburger. Nick had disagreed with that, unsurprisingly.

He scowled. "Dad lets me have them," he said firmly.

Brennan's breath gushed out of her, and she struggled for a moment to resolve herself. "Well, what would you say to toast and eggs and bacon, huh?"

Bacon could solve anything; it was something she had learned early on. "Mm, okay. Can I have peanut butter on my toast?"

She chuckled. "Of course."

It was as she was scooping the scrambled eggs out of the pan that he asked the inevitable question: "Where's dad?" His voice was quizzical and confused, and he said it with a little furrow in his brow that looked a lot like the one that she got when she was bewildered or thinking hard.

She closed her eyes, taking a slow and calming breath. It didn't do much good.

"Nick, dad won't be home for a while."

"Did he go on a trip again?"

That would be the easy route. She could just tell him that James had gone halfway around the world and wouldn't be around for a few weeks. She could find a way to explain the lack of phone calls and gifts in the mail, and it would give her time to figure out what to say. Time to find a way to put it in terms that he would understand, that wouldn't ruin his perception of his father. He was far too young for that, no matter what James might be capable of, or how terrible of a father it might make him that he had betrayed their family.

But the easy road was not one she could take. Nick was a smart kid, and he'd keep asking questions until he got real answers.

"You know what we talked about, how I work to put bad guys away?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, still confused, but now paying close attention.

"Well, dad knew someone who was... killed."

Nick's eyes went wide.

"So," she continued, "He has to help the police find out what happened. He's... very busy. He won't be around for a while."

"So he's like you," Nick said, "He's going to solve the case!"

The side of her that had been betrayed wanted to correct him. But her motherly side made her smile softly. "In a way, yes."

When things took another step, then she would explain the concept of 'separation' to him. And she'd have to go through all those motions that she had heard about, had seen in other people. She'd have to tell him that just because she and James weren't together, it didn't mean they didn't both still love him. She'd have to make sure he knew it wasn't his fault, that this had nothing to do with him. And one day, when he was older, he would ask the real reason.

And she would tell him, so long as she thought he was ready for it.

Turning her back and recomposing her face, she finished plating his breakfast.

"I have to go help with the case later this morning," she told him, unconsciously finding her phone on the counter. Booth would probably call when it got a little later. "You're going to spend the afternoon at Daisy's."

Nick made a face. "Her house smells like lemons."

Brennan smiled tightly. "Lemons smell nice, though, don't they?"

"Taylor's no fun, though. He just wants to look at picture books all day. It's boring."

"I know he's younger than you, but think of all the things you could teach him. I bet he'd love to see that magic trick Uncle Hodgins' taught you."

Nick stabbed his fork unevenly into his eggs, pushing them around the plate. She closed her eyes and turned back to the counter, feeling bad but knowing that he was just being difficult. She pulled her own toast out of the toaster and covered it with jam, pulling out the stool opposite her son.

"I have the day off," she said, knowing that would probably cheer him up. As expected, his head perked up immediately, his food forgotten. "So, I figured that after I get back and pick you up from Daisy's, we could get milkshakes and then pick up some Chinese food? What do you say, movie night?"

"Yes!" he said at once, his small head bobbing up and down. His hair flopped in his eyes. Maybe she should give that a trim this coming weekend. Although she had to say, it did look rather cute at it's current length. And it highlighted the fact that his hair was the same color as hers, with just a bit more auburn in it. It made him look like her, and she loved that... the connection there.

She had no clue how he was going to cope when he found out that he wouldn't be seeing his father anymore. And in the back of her mind, she wondered if he would blame her for it. She bit her lip at the thought, staving back the involuntary tightening in her throat.

"Mom?" he asked, his head tilted to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said swiftly, smiling reassuringly and quickly taking a bite of her toast.

He was still looking at her weirdly, but he seemed to recover quickly, because the next moment he was asking if they could play Monopoly with their movie night.

It was going on nine o'clock when her cell phone finally buzzed across the counter. The kitchen was cleaned up from breakfast and Nick was comfortably seated in the other room watching ancient reruns of the Looney Tunes.

"Brennan," she said briskly, pretending she had no clue who would be calling.

"Hey, it's me," Booth's voice greeted her. "Are you... busy?"

"Not at all," she answered, hearing the uneasiness in his tone. He had no clue to act around her right now, and to be honest, she had really no clue of how to act around him. She wanted to ask what was going on with James, and if he had found anything new, but she stopped herself.

"Could you... meet me in my office. In... a half hour?"

"I'll be there. I just need to drop Nick of at Daisy's."

"Oh," he said. It sounded like he had forgotten that she would have to make arrangements for her son. "Uh... okay. I'll see you then."

She hung up, shoving the phone in her pocket. "Nick?" she called into the other room. They were both dressed and ready. Now it was only a matter of getting him out the door. "Time to go!"

He moaned a protest that she didn't fully hear, and she moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed.

"Move it, mister," he ordered.

He grumbled as he got up, shuffling his feet out of the living room. Shaking her head, she crossed the room and flicked off the television set, following him to the main hallway.

It was warm out, so she forwent the coats, opening the door and ushering him out into the crisp air.

"When are you coming to pick me up?" he demanded as they pulled out of the driveway.

"Whenever I finish," she answered. It was the sort of answer that her son hated, but she didn't have a better one available.

In the mirror, she saw him pout.

"I'll call ahead," she promised, to alleviate his annoyance.

He still looked put-out when they pulled into Daisy's driveway, but at her reminder of how they would spend the rest of the day, he brightened somewhat.

"Temperance," Daisy said warmly, stepping out onto the porch. Taylor, ever the shy one, peered around the doorframe, but didn't follow.

They had gotten on a first-name basis after Daisy stopped working at the lab, and they started helping each other out with mom-related things. It was a strange concept, when she thought of it. Years ago, if anyone had suggested the idea, she'd have thought they were in need of mental help.

"Thank you so much," she said warmly in response. "I really appreciate this." She undid the last strap on her son's car seat, and he hopped out and headed straight for the door.

"I smell cookies!" he said excitedly.

Brennan chuckled. "Well, you've won him over," she commented.

"I'm glad," Daisy said, beaming. "And it's really no trouble at all. I love having him around... it's good for Taylor to have some little friends to socialize with. He's so quiet," she added in a softer voice, glancing back over her shoulder. Nick had disappeared inside, but Taylor was still clinging to the doorframe. Brennan claimed to have taught her son manners, but an observer would never know. He was probably stuffing his face with the cookies right now. She almost groaned at the thought.

"I hope he doesn't cause any trouble for you," she murmured, shaking her head. "I'll call when I'm on my way back. It shouldn't be long."

"Don't worry about it. I'll see you later!"

Daisy, at least, seemed unaware of what was going on. She was a terrible actress; she wore her emotions all over her sleeve. If she was aware of the reason Brennan needed to leave Nick there, she had gained an entirely new skill set overnight. Sweets knew, though, so he must be doing a good job of keeping it from her for the time being. She was grateful.

Alone again on the ride back towards the Hoover, Brennan felt much like she had in the wake of Angela's departure that morning. Nervous, and too full of energy. She would be facing Booth shortly, and even though he was already aware of what was going on... she just didn't want to see the look on his face. The pity that she would find there. The care that he shouldn't be showing towards her, because he had no reason to after all this time.

Why couldn't he have found someone else, after Hannah, and gone on with his life? Why did he have to keep making her feel guilty for being the one to find a way to go on without him, when he had done it first?

As expected, he looked anxious when she knocked on his office door. His head snapped up, as if surprised at her arrival, and then he quickly stood up, shoving his chair in.

"Hey," he said, almost breathlessly. "I thought that... maybe we could go somewhere else. I mean, this isn't a formal interview. It's not... I'm not interrogating you."

"You're office is fine," she said with a frown. "You're doing your job."

"Right. Right, we'll just... get it over with, then." He slowly settled back into his chair, and she pulled the stiff-backed one away from the wall and set it in front of his desk, crossing her legs and tapping her fingers on the desk as she waited for him.

He shuffled some papers, looking like he very much wished she'd taken him up on his offer.

"Is he still in lock up?" she questioned. For some reason, she suddenly couldn't get herself to say his name.

"Technically we can keep him for seventy-two hours, but the lawyer boys might get a little bit testy if we try that. We're letting him go in a few hours."

She nodded. "Has he... said anything else?"

Booth clenched his jaw. "Nothing pertinent. But as far as we can see, he didn't kill her. The evidence doesn't add up, but if... you could confirm his alibi."

"As far as I know, he was home. Seeing as I apparently wasn't aware of a lot of things, though, it's possible he might have been able to get away in the middle of the night and return before I woke up. He probably had enough practice," she added softly, glancing away.

"As, uh... far as we can see, he only met Maggie during work hours," Booth provided cautiously.

She nodded. The detail closed a few gaps, but didn't make her feel any better.

"And you were home all night?" he questioned, his focus on the paper in front of him now, pen poised.

"Yes," she answered stiffly. Maybe it would have been better if another agent had done this. It would have eased the awkwardness. It was uncomfortable discussing this with anyone, but perhaps with someone who she didn't know, whose judgment didn't matter to her, it would have been easier to get through.

Booth seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at least on similar lines.

"You had... no knowledge that your husband was engaged in... an affair with Margaret Singer?"

She rolled her tongue over her lips. "No," she said quietly, looking at the wall, the carpet, his desk, even his hand as it scraped the pen across the paper. Anything but his face.

"You had... no suspicions?"

"I... no. Well..." she frowned, feeling her face reddening, which it almost never did. She wished he'd stop looking at her. His pen had stopped moving, and she could feel his gaze burning into her.

"Brennan?"

He was back to using her last name. She was semi-relieved, but at the same time as it was safe ground... it suddenly made her so aware of the fact that it wasn't her nickname. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue; maybe he hadn't actually intended to use it the other day.

"Things haven't exactly been... perfect." He knew all this from the interrogation yesterday. He'd been watching from the other side of the mirror. He had heard her questions, and his answers. Especially his answers. "I just thought it was... about me. Not because he was with... someone else."

Booth's hand twitched a centimeter closer to hers. She removed hers from the desk, letting it fall in her lap. She didn't need his comfort. Didn't want him to feel like he needed to give it.

She really should have requested to be questioned by another agent. Any other agent.

"How well did you know Margaret Singer?"

"Just as his secretary. She was always... very nice to me." Sudden realization washed over her, and the atmosphere of an interview vanished completely. "Booth, do you think that's why she was in the Diner that night?"

He had dropped the pen, and was now giving her a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... the blackmail. It said that... if she wanted it to remain a secret, she had to pay ten thousand dollars."

"Which she didn't do," Booth filled in, catching on.

"And she wasn't going to let it come out. She was... she was going to tell on her own. She was... going to tell me about the affair. But... why didn't she, then? If she was in there, and I was in there..?"

"I imagine it wouldn't have been very easy," he reasoned. "The waitress we talked to said she looked anxious, remember? Worried. Nervous. She was trying to work up the courage to talk to you, to tell you the truth."

"And then someone killed her before she could. Oh, God." Another horrible idea occurred to her. "Booth, you don't think that's why someone killed her? Because she was there to tell me?"

"That's why we thought James might have done it. But really... he's the only one that would have motivation to do it for that reason. Unless there's some other element we haven't found yet. Chances are, there's other motive here."

Brennan nodded, only slightly relieved. She didn't hate Maggie for what she had done. The woman had ended up dead, after all, and from what they'd uncovered before they'd found out who the affair was with... she had been feeling guilty about it. And she had wanted to tell the truth. No, she didn't blame the secretary. She blamed James. Because he was the one who had ultimately made the choice. Brennan had never believed in the concept of women seducing men away from their wives. In order for that to happen... the man had to be looking to stray. And clearly, James had been looking to stray. She didn't doubt that he had instigated the affair. In fact, she was almost certain of it.

"We should look further into the blackmailing angle," she said thoughtfully. "You said you thought that the stalker, who admitted to being the blackmailer, did it because he wanted the affair to end? Aren't stalkers known to be delusional?"

"He seemed pretty solid, but I'll look into it. Listen, you... can't be on this anymore."

"What?" she gaped at him, her eyes hardening.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said carefully. "This... isn't my call. This came from over my head. I can't let you back in the field with me. You can't even be on this at the lab. I mean... you remember back when Hodgins had that connection to that woman, with the whole best friend, husband, triangle-thing he had going on? Caroline almost killed him, and me, for letting him touch so much evidence. They can't question your objectivity on the stuff that led us to this point, and I'll make sure they don't... but from this point on, you can't go near anything."

"Booth," she started to protest, but he held up a finger to silence her.

"I wish it wasn't like this. I mean... I really want to keep working this one with you. But I just... we can't risk this one getting tossed out because some defense lawyer smudges garbage in our faces. And you know they'll try it."

She huffed out a sigh, knowing he was right. She was too close to this one. It only made her want to work on it more, but with Booth siding against her... she didn't stand much of a chance.

"You've already done a lot to help," he insisted. "And... you trained Harper. He should be able to give us anything else we might need. Honestly, though, I think a lot of the rest of this is going to be focused in the evidence we've already found. We just need the missing link. I need the missing link," he corrected, wincing apologetically.

She nodded, her jaw set. She wasn't going to argue on something that made sense, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it.

"Listen, do you... want to go grab a bite to eat? I mean, it's nearly lunchtime, and..."

"No thanks," she said, cutting him off. She was going to get Nick and go for lunch, but she didn't tell him that. What he needed to get from her refusal was that she wasn't interested. Not 'sorry, but I have plans with my son.'

He needed to stop caring. She needed him to stop caring.

She was out of his office before he could say anything else, and her mind was spinning as she took the elevator back down, this time alone.

When she had turned him down, it could very well have been the worst decision of her life. But she had done it because she didn't want to hurt him in the future. She hadn't wanted to start something only to watch it fall apart. She had thought that... at least if they stopped there, there would be a question of possible success. She wouldn't have to know for sure, that they wouldn't have worked out, even though she was almost certain that she was correct about how it all would have ended.

In turning him down, in trying to protect him, she had tried to accept him moving on. Her heart had begged her not to let it happen, and her head had insisted that it was the right thing to do, for both of them. She had been right, when she told him she didn't have his kind of open heart. She would have made some sort of decision, at some point, that would have made him look at her differently. Would have made him hate her.

Now, he was trying to care again. He was trying to be there for her. But if he did that, if he got too close, if he opened up all those old wounds and let her feel those emotions for him that she had long ago locked away in a tiny box and tried to forget about... it would all go to hell. If he asked her that same question, if he gave her that opportunity again – and she had no doubt that it would happen, were she to let him keep being nice to her and working his way back into her life – then she wouldn't be able to shut it off. She would dive straight in, gratefully, and she would make those same mistakes she'd been afraid of the first time around. It would still destroy them, just seven years later than it would have the first time around. The fallout, though, would be just as disastrous. Just as painful, for both of them.

And if what had happened with James was any indication, added onto the long list of her failed relationships, it was clear that she wasn't meant to be with anyone. It wasn't that she was finding the wrong guys. It was that she was the wrong girl. She was the common denominator in every situation that ended horribly.

No, she wouldn't let it happen. Regardless of what happened with James, regardless of how it all fell out in the end, and if she found herself alone once more... that was how she intended to stay. No more relationships, no more men who disappointed her. No more betrayal and abandonment. No more opportunity for her to fail and destroy something she cared about. She would be alone, with Nick, and that would be all she needed to be happy.

Booth would find some way to move on. Eventually, if she kept him blocked out long enough, he would stumble into someone new, and he would start something and disappear from her life.

At the thought, her heart constricting into her chest.

No, she told herself, It's a good thing. I want him to move away. Start a family. I don't want to see him every day anymore... I don't want to see him and remember how I hurt him, how I'll continue hurting him. I can't do that anymore. I can't.

The elevator opened, and she took a deep breath before stepping into the chilly air of the parking garage. She pulled out her cell phone, clearing her throat and convincing herself that her voice was going to be steady enough. She would call Daisy, tell her she was on her way.

And then she would take her son for a burger and milkshake. And she would forget about everything else, and imagine the world through the magic-filled gaze of a four year old boy who she loved more than anything else in the world.

I love all feedback, so let me know what you thought, what you think is coming next... anything, really, will make me ridiculously happy.